Strangers For Way Too Long
by heartsways
Summary: Based on a 5 sentence fic prompt where Henry hasn't regained his memories and, based on Emma's attempts to get him to spend time with Regina, thinks that his mom and the Mayor are dating. Mostly fluff. Because you all hate me for the angst. Also, you may recognize some dialogue from the show itself because why write fanfiction when the show does it for you, right?
1. Get Weak All The Time

**Title:** Strangers For Way Too Long  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina/Emma  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: ** Based on a 5 sentence fic prompt where Henry hasn't regained his memories and, based on Emma's attempts to get him to spend time with Regina, thinks that his mom and the Mayor are dating. Mostly fluff. Because you all hate me for the angst. Also, you may recognize some dialogue from the show itself because why write fanfiction when the show does it for you, right?

"I thought maybe we could stop by the Mayor's office later," Emma says that morning over breakfast, "and say hello to Regina."

Henry's spoon stops halfway to his mouth and he assumes a quizzical expression that crumples his features into suspicious bemusement. Since they came to this town where nothing ever happens, his mom has introduced him to people like they're all old friends. And they – he's noticed a growing trend – have been ridiculously pleased to see him. He thinks it must be because nobody ever visits Storybrooke, and why would they? But the hot waitress at the diner seemed to know his name and the tweedy guy with the Dalmatian almost cried when they met in the street yesterday. It's all just a bit…_weird_. And if this is where his mom spent time, he thinks, ponderously spooning cereal into his mouth and crunching down on it, then it's no wonder she left.

By the time he's swallowed and his mom is literally crushing her coffee mug between her hands, she's gripping it so tightly, Henry drops his spoon back into his cereal bowl and shrugs.

"But you saw her yesterday – we **both **did," he tells Emma. "And…if you haven't noticed, the Mayor is kinda scary even when she's smiling. Or maybe especially then," he adds with a frown.

It doesn't really matter that Henry's right, or that Regina's particular brand of intimidation is something she wears like her own skin. Emma could see the pain on the other woman's face from the second she saw Henry. Oh, Regina had tried to cover it up alright behind one of her patently fake smiles; she might have been in Fairy Tale Land for the past year but she's ever the politician. Emma knows that she's seen that smile before – the way that Regina papers over the cracks like they aren't even really there at all. It always used to irritate and antagonize her.

But these days, things are different. And Emma can't help feeling like Regina is different too. So when she thinks about how much Regina's holding back when it comes to Henry, Emma can't really feel anything other than a deep, hurtful sympathy for the woman.

"She's…" Emma begins, then sees Henry's brows furrow, as though he's searching for something he can't quite grasp. It's as though he feels like he _should_ remember Regina, even though his brain is telling him that he's never met the woman before. "She's just used to being in charge," she tells him, settling for the least troublesome option.

"Well she **is** the Mayor," Henry hums, and stirs cereal around his bowl as Emma wonders at how he can have been raised by a woman he simply doesn't know. "She's not the sort of person I figured **you'd** be friends with, though."

"What's** that** supposed to mean?" Now it's Emma's turn to look confused and she cocks her head onto one side as Henry's eyes turn upon her.

"I dunno," he shrugs. "She just doesn't seem your type, you know?"

Emma isn't sure what to say because there's a grin playing around the edges of Henry's mouth as he looks at her more intently and then blinks, shoving his cereal bowl to one side and leaning his elbows onto the breakfast table. _Regina would never stand for such things_, she chides herself, and is immediately shocked that such a thing could even enter her head because, for the last year, Regina Mills hasn't even existed and Emma's parenting skills have been beyond question.

It's almost funny how, now that she has her memories back, Regina is front and center in most of them.

"I don't **have** a type, kid," she admonishes, as Henry draws in a breath and rolls his eyes. He looks so much like his father that Emma can't help the frown that creases her brow, nor the tightening of her mouth anytime she thinks about Neal.

"Except you **do**," Henry mutters, largely to himself, "like my history teacher, the vice-principal and that woman at the dentist's that you said you hated but I don't think you really did."

Speechless, Emma's mouth opens and closes a few times before Henry shrugs equivocally and clasps his hands together. "So I think I know the real reason we came back here and why you want me to like Ms. Mills. And it's okay, mom," he adds with an encouraging smile.

"Oh…kid…" Emma manages to say, beset with both the idea that Henry thinks she's here to romance Regina and the thought of _actually_ doing it. It's the latter that brings a faint flush to her cheeks and flummoxes her much more than she expects, because she should be repelled by the notion.

She just…_isn't_.

"I can tell that you and Ms. Mills are…you know…together or dating or **whatever**," Henry grunts, "so if you wanna go see her and make out, please don't take me with you as an excuse."

"You're not an – it's not – I don't have – " Emma's words tumble over one another and she finds herself unable to finish a complete sentence. It's not that Henry's right – _he's not right, how could he be?_ – but rather that he's so far off the mark that to correct him would be as implausible as what he's suggesting. To tell him that Regina is his mother would be as ridiculous and inappropriate as painting her as the object of Emma's affections. Either way, Emma reasons, she's pretty screwed. And not in the way that Henry suspects.

Her mouth twists as Henry lifts his eyebrows and Emma finds herself wishing he wasn't quite so smart or insightful. Or, if he's going to use his powers for evil, she wants to make sure that he does it elsewhere. Like, with Regina, for example. It's about time the Evil Queen had a taste of her own medicine.

But she knows in the minute she allows herself a malicious thought about Regina that she doesn't really mean it. When it comes to Regina it's always been complicated; never really been as clear cut as everyone else tried to make it – including her own parents – and now that she's returned to Storybrooke, Emma knows that whatever animosity she held towards Regina has vanished, just like the curse that engendered it.

She reaches across the table and closes her hand over Henry's, squeezing it gently.

"Listen, kid," she says softly, "truth of the matter is that Regina has a lot to teach you. She's a classy lady, you know?"

Henry's mouth opens to protest but Emma shrugs and shakes her head. "She **is**," she insists, "and that's something I didn't have much of when I was growing up. So spend time with her, for me, okay?"

"I guess," Henry's face screws up and he puffs out his cheeks in reluctant acquiescence. "But if you want to date her – I mean, if you already **are**, then that's fine, mom. If she can put up with your snoring, then I'm already a fan."

He can't help laughing as Emma snatches her hand away from his and glares at him, rising from the table and grabbing his half-empty bowl of cereal. She stomps into the kitchen and Henry watches her go, wondering if it's going to be like this every time his mom wants to date someone. The history teacher hadn't quite worked out – Emma's excuse had been that it was wrong to date someone employed by his school, and the same had gone for the vice-principal. But Regina Mills was a free agent, in a town that Henry had never even heard of before a few days ago. And it's progress, he tells himself, that Emma wants to introduce him to anyone at all; after his dad and what he did, Henry knows that Emma didn't trust anyone with her heart, not really. There was always a part of her that held back, that refused dates, that never put herself out there so she could find true love or whatever stupid stuff people were supposed to believe in.

But Henry's seen the way that Emma reacts when Regina's around. He's see the way they look at each other and even felt how the air seems more charged when they're together. So if his mom wants to date Regina: if his mom thinks that Regina can make her happy, then who is he to object, right?

XxxXxxXxxXxx

Regina looks up from her desk as the door to her office opens. There's an eagerness on her face that instantly falls away as she sees that Emma's alone; her shoulders slump and she leans back in her chair, looking down at the papers on her desk so that Emma won't see how disappointed she is.

Emma _does_ see, though, and shuffles a little as she approaches, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She hasn't worn them this regularly since leaving Storybrooke: it's funny how old habits reassert themselves. They've become like a uniform along with the red jacket over a shirt that she now deems too stylish for here and her fingers touch the fine material with nostalgia for a life and a home that she now knows were never really hers to begin with. Just false memories of a life never lived, implanted by a rare act of selflessness from the woman sitting in front of her.

"No Henry," Regina states, her voice flat.

"No," Emma says tentatively. "He…uh…he – "

"Didn't want to spend time with someone he doesn't know." Regina manages to at least look accepting of the fact, even if it pains her to verbalize it. "Well, that's to be expected. He **is** a teenager, after all."

"It's not really **that**," Emma frowns, dropping into the chair at Regina's desk and the two women face one another across the table, quiet in their understanding that it _is_ really that, it's only natural and Regina – as she is now – is no longer a part of Henry's life. Has _never_ been, according to the boy's catalogue of fake memories.

"You don't have to sugar coat it, Emma," Regina attempts a smile and it looks like a grimace on her red lips, a rictus grin that mourns the passing of a life she nurtured and that now exists outside of hers entirely. "Until he remembers who I am, I'm just someone who's an acquaintance of his mother – of you."

She shuffles the papers on her desk as though she's in the middle of something very important and very time consuming. Which she _is_, of course, but it doesn't even remotely relate to town business and as she straightens the edges of paperwork that doesn't matter and bureaucracy that has no import when it comes to saving Storybrooke, Regina lets out a tiny sigh of impatience. If she were half the conjurer her mother always wanted her to be, then she'd have rectified this situation by now. If she were even a fraction as powerful as the denizens of the Enchanted Forest believed, then Henry would be here, smiling at her in that crooked way that always tugged at her heart and made her capable of offering him anything so that he'd keep smiling, keep loving her, keep wanting to understand who she is and how she got here.

"Okay," Emma says abruptly, and Regina looks up to see a look of such consternation on the blonde's face that she almost laughs out loud. Emma looks distinctly uncomfortable at the situation – but not for the reasons Regina initially suspected. No; Emma looks concerned; sympathetic, even.

"Here's the thing," Emma continues. "Henry doesn't think we're friends."

"Oh?" Now Regina's confused; while she may not be au fait with the sort of pointless fripperies of being friends with another woman, she's not stupid. She's been as submissive and kind as her personality will truly allow whenever Henry's been present. Actually, Regina reminds herself with not a little discomfort, she's been a little like that when he _hasn't_ been present. She thinks about him constantly and, whenever she does, she ends up thinking about Emma, too.

It's all a little too disturbing for her and, if she _did_ have friends who were women, she'd probably gossip to them about it and ask for their opinion. But the only "friend" she has right now is Emma – who's the _last_ person Regina wants to confide in when she's having complicated emotions regarding the very woman herself.

Regina sits up in her chair and clasps her hands together on the desk and smiles politely at Emma, like she's about to go through the Sheriff's budget for that month. She can see how it irks the other woman – and there's a part of her that wants to do it all the more – but she composes herself and blinks as she waits for Emma to speak.

"Uh, yeah," Emma reaches up, scratching at her temple and wondering how she's going to say this without it sounding like a cheap come on; wondering how Regina's going to react and wondering why she cares.

"Are you saying I'm not nearly convincing enough to be your friend?" Regina asks, and Emma can't help smirking at the wounded pride in the other woman's voice. "Because let me assure you, Miss Swan, I can charm the birds from the trees if needs be. Quite literally," she adds, with a rather vain lift of her chin.

"I bet my mother just **loved **that," Emma mutters, before stretching her legs out beneath Regina's desk and folding her arms over her chest. "No, listen, it's fine. This…**us**…it's fine, right?"

"I…suppose it is," Regina responds with a faint nod. She's not entirely sure what Emma's getting at, but even _she_ has to admit that having the Savior back in town proffers a level of familiarity and comfort that is unexpectedly welcome. "So why does Henry think we're not friends, then?"

Emma blushes a little and squirms in her chair. The way Regina's looking at her right now could melt stone, she's sure of it. That intensity was always directed in anger, but now it's filled with something else and Emma finds her gaze darting away around the office, trying to focus on anything other than Regina. If she looks into those eyes too long, Emma isn't sure what might come out of her mouth.

"He…uh…he thinks that we're…uh…"

"Oh for the love of all things holy," Regina barks, and Emma could almost kiss her for displaying such a ribald return to form, "**do** spit it out, Emma. If I'm not doing something I **should** be doing, or if we're not convincing enough, then clearly we need to rethink our game plan when it comes to Henry, because I simply **cannot** live in a town where my own son doesn't know me. I suggest you – "

"He thinks we're dating."

Emma had wanted to cushion the blow as best she could. She'd wanted to lead into it with a discussion about how she and Regina relate to one another, how they act around each other, how Henry might perceive those furtive glances and the whispered exchanges of information. But it's all just come rushing out in one breath and, Emma thinks as she takes in Regina's wide eyes and scarlet lips parted in surprise, she might just as well have clobbered her over the head with a blunt object.

XxxXxxXxxXxx


	2. We Stare From Each Side

Chapter 2: We Stare From Each Side

"Smile, Regina," Emma hisses from across the table, "you're supposed to be on a date."

Regina tears her gaze away from where Henry is being fed more ice cream than is advisable by Granny, who is genuinely and openly emotional at the attention he's giving her. In fact, since they came into the diner for lunch, Henry's been more or less monopolized by the people in there under the guise of getting to know Emma's son. It hurts, that she can't participate in it; that she has to pretend she's just a friend.

Not, she thinks as she turns back to stare balefully at Emma, Henry's mother: the woman who raised him for over a decade, not the Evil Queen or whatever the townspeople liked to convince themselves she still was, and _definitely_ not Emma's potential girlfriend.

The mere thought of it brings a twist to her lips as she considers the nomenclature. She's predisposed to hate it; almost convinced herself that she does. But as Emma's eyebrows rise and a quirky grin tugs at her lips, Regina finds herself more than a little alarmed at how much she _doesn't_ hate the name, or the idea.

"I'm afraid dating isn't something I've had much experience with," Regina says quietly, turning her teacup around on the table in front of her and avoiding that pang of understanding that flashes through Emma's eyes all of a sudden.

"Luckily, or more to the point, unluckily, I **have**," Emma gives a mirthless laugh and shrugs, "so I'll hold your hand through it."

Now she can't help laughing for real as Regina's eyes widen and she snatches her hands from the table top, clasping them together in her lap. Emma shifts in her seat and grabs her coffee, throwing what's left in the mug down her throat and swallowing gratefully. She's missed Granny's coffee – and the diner – more than she cares to admit, so when Ruby saunters over with the coffee pot, Emma shoves her mug towards the waitress with a nod.

"So…how's it going?" Ruby looks between them and her lips part in a particularly lascivious grin.

Regina sighs, rolling her eyes and muttering something under her breath that Emma can't quite catch but she can tell it's nothing good. Ruby, to her great credit, doesn't bat an eyelid and her grin only increases just that little bit more. It's obvious she's taking great pleasure in a ruse that now seems to be public knowledge, and there's more than one pair of eyes firmly fixed on the would-be couple sitting in the booth.

"It's…" Emma takes a deep breath then lets it out again as calmly as she can, what with Regina looking like she might explode any second, "it's going."

"Uh, okay," Ruby frowns, none the wiser, but has the good grace to nod and smile as she saunters away.

"I'm very uncomfortable," Regina says abruptly, and Emma glances over to where Henry's regaling Granny with some ridiculous story about his schoolmates back in New York.

"Yeah, I know," Emma says, looking back at Regina and wishing the other woman wasn't so damn uptight. Although, she reasons, that's actually one of the characteristics she finds most charming about Regina – and she can't help wondering how messed up it is that there's a litany of things she likes about Regina that would make any normal person run for the hills.

But being the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming makes her something other than normal to start with, not to mention being The Savior to boot. So, Emma figures, lifting her mug of coffee to her lips and swigging generously, who cares about normal anyway?

"Come on," Emma says as she puts her mug down onto the table top, "you're really telling me you've **never** been on a date before?"

Regina gives her a look that's half-incredulous and half-critical. "Considering the dating pool that's been on offer for the last thirty years, is it really that surprising?"

Emma can't help laughing as they both sweep their gazes around the diner. "Yeah," she agrees, "not so much a dating pool as more of a dating puddle, right?"

That comment, at least, brings a faint smile to Regina's lips and Emma silently congratulates herself, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in something so inconsequential. Regina relaxes a little and toys with her teacup again, running a perfectly manicured nail over the rim and down onto the handle.

"I'm only doing this for Henry's sake," she admits, and her face seems to melt into saying his name in a way that clutches at Emma's heart. "And I'd rather the entire town didn't think we were indulging in some ridiculous romance at the expense of my dignity."

"I wouldn't have taken you for someone who cares what other people think," Emma comments, and she can tell from the way that Regina's eyes darken that she's said precisely the wrong thing.

"How very little you truly know about me," Regina tells her, "whichever way you prefer to take me." Her words are loaded and incendiary; it's difficult for Emma to stop from rising to the bait, which is surely what Regina's been throwing at her since they met. But she grinds her back teeth together and takes a breath as she wonders if this is how they communicate best: hurling barbs at one another in an attempt to get a reaction. Because perhaps any reaction is better than none at all. Any emotion, however negative, is better than simply being ignored.

Emma feels irritation seep from her as she frowns at Regina. The woman's lonely; that's really all there is to it. And she's been lonely for a lot longer than Emma can even imagine. Henry was a cure for that. And now, she sighs a little to herself, Regina is feeling his absence more keenly than she ever felt solitude; that much is obvious.

"Okay, well you try keeping a secret in Storybrooke, then," Emma grunts in an effort to divert the subject and Regina's mood. She catches Dr. Hopper's eye from where he's sitting by the window and endures the overly dramatic wink he directs towards her. "Besides, this morning Henry informed my mother that you and I were a couple and I thought she was going to give birth right there and then."

Now Regina chuckles, her entire face lighting up in malicious pleasure. It makes her seem a whole lot more palatable than when she was sulky and withdrawn, and Emma leans back in her seat, satisfied with herself.

"I suppose perhaps there **is** an upside to this whole dating thing," Regina hums, making eye contact with Emma for a touch longer than is really necessary. "Even if Henry is the only one who thinks it's real."

She looks away now, towards Henry, and her eyes mist with lost memories that only she can properly recall. Her chest aches all the time when she thinks about him and when he's near her, Regina can feel his presence like a stab in the gut. She wondered if perhaps she simply loved him enough then he'd remember her; if she allowed the great emotion she felt for him to consume them both, then somewhere in the midst of that Henry might recognize her at last. But loving him as much as she does and having him offer her polite, well-mannered platitudes is, quite literally, killing her. Regina can almost feel herself wasting away by the minute.

"Listen," Emma says, reaching across the table and putting her hand over Regina's, stilling the other woman's incessant play with the china cup in front of her, "we'll figure out how to get Henry's memories back and how to get yours back too. It's what we do, right? We swoop in, or whatever, and save the day."

As Regina gazes at her, Emma's suddenly aware that they're touching. That this is maybe the first time they've touched since Regina pressed a new life into her hands and let her take Henry away from Storybrooke. There's something of that expression on Regina's face now: the way she looked at Emma as she gave her everything a mother could possibly want or need; the way that she let Henry go not because it was what she _wanted_, but because it was the right thing to do. The _noble_ thing. The actions of a hero, not a villain.

But there's something else there, too, in the contact of skin on skin. Emma's not sure what it is, but she sees a richer, more intense emotion flutter through Regina's gaze and, for a second, they're both a little intoxicated by it.

"Is that what you're doing now?" Regina finally says, and her voice has dipped to a husky tone that Emma can't say she hates. "Saving the day by holding my hand?"

It was meant to come out as sardonic, as something dismissive and even hurtful. But Regina stares down at their hands as she says it and knows that it's nothing of the sort. All the anger she'd directed towards Emma has gone, dissipated into something that feels a little like nostalgia. A little like something else. Something that worryingly flits around her chest and prickles at the back of her neck.

"I'm holding your hand," Emma announces, "because we're on our first proper date, Regina." She assumes an expression of mild offense as though stating the obvious and, out of the corner of her eye, sees Henry grinning like a fool over at the counter as he spies their faked intimacy.

Only, it's not so faked. Not _really_.

"I **do** hope you won't be expecting a kiss – or anything else - when you take me home," Regina appears placid enough, but there's a wicked little smile dancing through her eyes and Emma has to swallow hard before she realizes the other woman is teasing her.

"Nah," Emma shrugs, pulling her hand from Regina's and shrugging nonchalantly. "I'd never date a woman who puts out on the first date."

As Regina's mouth twists in distaste – and it's such a grandiose sort of gesture that it can't _possibly_ be genuine – Emma grins and leans over the table.

"But tonight," she whispers, "we're going on a stakeout. So consider that our second date. All bets are off."

"I see," Regina retorts as Henry slides off his stool at the counter and makes his way back towards them. "In that case, it's perhaps just as well I'm not a betting woman, because I'd dearly hate to see you lose, Miss Swan."

XxxXxxXxxXxx

Regina's already turned up her nose at the idea of a stakeout and spending yet another "date" with Emma, but mostly she's expressed her distaste at sitting and waiting in the yellow bug. Emma said that Regina's car would be too conspicuous, but Regina can't help thinking that it would have been more practical, as they're sitting literally shoulder to shoulder. She and Emma have invaded one another's personal space more times than she can remember, but it feels different now that the antagonism has been taken out of the situation.

So they've been sitting in the car for almost an hour and, for the last twenty minutes, neither of them has said a word. Regina checks her watch irritably and rolls her eyes. _Twenty two minutes_. And counting.

She sighs loudly as Emma takes a noisy swig of her coffee and peers out of the windscreen towards City Hall which is disappointingly quiet and dark.

"So," Regina says, her voice sounding horribly loud in the silence of the car, "do we just sit here and wait?"

"'Til the person who cast the curse makes a move on your office," Emma nods equivocally.

Regina makes a noise that's somewhere between dissatisfaction and appraisal, then frowns and turns to look at Emma. "Is this…**really** what you do for a living?" she asks. There's an incredulous note to her voice that puts a moue of annoyance on Emma's mouth and she can't help feeling a little huffy.

"Yeah," she answers shortly. "It's called a stakeout." Then she smiles at Regina in that prosaic, smug way that she knows the other woman hates.

"And you don't get bored?" Regina's all questions because she can't for the life of her imagine a job that involves watching and waiting and doing very little else. She prides herself on being a woman of action; she prides herself on taking the initiative instead of waiting for opportunity to wander in front of the car. She seizes opportunities; Regina _makes_ them. And sitting in a car in the middle of the night with Emma Swan, of all people, presents _very_ little opportunity at all as far as she's concerned.

"I don't know," Emma shrugs non-committally, "you find ways to pass the time. Eat, talk, mostly watch, which is what we should be doing." She sips her coffee and nods towards City Hall, trying to ignore the fact that this is the most normal conversation she and Regina have ever had. It's the sort of conversation people have on dates – which this absolutely _isn't_ – where they find out the humdrum things about one another that aren't remotely connected to fairytales and Saviors and curses.

Emma can't help smiling to herself. Never, not once, has she ever thought she might be on a date-not-date with Regina Mills.

But it doesn't suck. Which is kind of surprising. And not entirely unwelcome.

"Does he have friends?"

"Does **who** have friends?" Emma frowns, turning to Regina and shaking her head a little.

"Henry," Regina says quietly. "Does he have any friends in New York?"

Emma smiles again. She can't help it when it comes to her memories of New York. There'd been after-school groups, noisy sleepovers where nobody got any sleep and video game marathons that lasted all weekend. It was normal. So she smiles, but it's borne of nostalgia more than anything else; filled with longing for a life that was never theirs to begin with, not really.

"Yeah," she finally nods. "He has a lot of friends. No girlfriends yet – at least not that I know about."

"So he's happy," Regina breathes, and she seems genuinely relieved. "His life is good there."

"Yeah, I almost didn't come back because of that."

"Then why **did** you?" Regina is appalled, ready to lay blame at Emma's feet and demand the other woman explain herself. Of all the things she might hold Emma accountable for – and that list has always been _very_ long and _very_ full – the selfish part of Regina, the part that loves Henry more than anything else in her entire life simply doesn't understand why Emma didn't stay away. Why Emma didn't keep Henry safely ensconced in the life created for him. The alternative; coming back here…it just doesn't make any sense.

Emma turns thoughtfully to Regina and their gazes meet as she ponders Regina's question. She could easily give the other woman a trite answer, but Emma knows that trite answers won't appease Regina. It's hard, sometimes, to imagine something that might.

"Because he may not remember all this but I do," Emma tells Regina. "And I know what he would say: a hero would come back."

Regina's eyes fill with sudden tears and she smiles, despite the growing lump in her throat. "He **would **say that," she admits, and there's a moment between them when they both understand just how much they know him, how much they understand who their son is. How much they need him – both individually and as a couple. And in that respect, neither woman is pretending anything.

"Well, this is your chance to play the hero again, Emma," Regina says, clearing her throat and swiping at the wetness beneath her eyes. "If you can remember how."

"Hey, I can remember how just **fine**, thank you," Emma blurts, a little huffy again. "I lost my memories, Regina; I didn't lose my mind."

"Debatable," Regina murmurs, but her eyes are kinder than Emma's seen them in a long while.

And now it's actually starting to feel like a date.

"So…anyway," Emma says, breaking the moment and fiddling with the top of her coffee cup, "I…uh…never said thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you did…for giving me and Henry such great memories. For letting him go." Emma's thoughts come out in staccato little pieces and she shifts in the driver's seat. "I can't imagine – "

"Yes, you can," Regina interrupts. She holds Emma's gaze briefly before looking down at her own hands, fingers twisting against one another. "You did the same thing. You gave him his best chance."

"Actually," Emma's lips curve and her voice becomes softer, "**you** did."

It strikes her as funny that the real reason they're here has somehow metamorphosed into the fake reason that they gave Henry as an excuse to be here in the first place. That the lie has somehow become the truth. Emma barely has chance to consider that her superpower might just be on the fritz before she's moving towards Regina and Regina is moving towards her.

Their kiss is desperate, full of pent-up emotion that's filled with frustration and anxiety. It's about as romantic as a potato, about as far away from a fairytale as it's possible to be. But Regina's hands are tangling in Emma's hair and Emma's fingers are pressing into Regina's shoulders, hard and insistent. Suddenly there's no space between them at all and it feels as though the last two years have been leading up to this – a conflagration of all that's pulled them together and all that's pushed them apart.

Regina makes a tiny sound deep in her throat that has Emma groaning as their tongues slither over one another. Emma feels Regina's fingernails on the nape of her neck, diving through thick, blond hair to scrape over her skin and god…it's _incredible_, to be perfectly honest. And then Regina nibbles on her lower lip and Emma's brain short circuits completely.

By the time they're separated, pressed back against the doors of the car, vaguely horrified and breathing heavily, Emma's blinking wordlessly at Regina and trying to figure out when they went from former enemies to…well, to _this_.

Regina pulls her purse onto her lap and fumbles inside it for a few seconds before pulling out her compact and flipping it open. She grunts in dismay and shakes her head before delving back into her purse, her hand finally emerging with a wet wipe grasped between her finger and thumb. Holding it out to Emma, Regina's mouth twitches in barely disguised amusement.

"You have a little…" she says, waving her fingers around her mouth and shaking the wet wipe at Emma. "Lipstick," she qualifies.

What she _doesn't_ say is that it's all over Emma's mouth, smeared across her chin and there's even some on her neck. Regina is already absolving herself of blame for how it got there, reasoning that it was a heated moment wherein she wasn't responsible for her actions. But as she watches Emma gaze at herself in the rearview mirror, hastily wiping at her face with the wet wipe, Regina can't help feeling a certain amount of pride. After all, the opportunity presented itself and she took it.

"So much for the stakeout," Emma mutters, rubbing at a particularly vibrant patch of red just beneath her nose.

"Indeed," Regina agrees, touching a delicate fingertip to the corner of her mouth. She glances at Emma, and then at her reflection in the compact and – she can't explain how – for the first time since seeing Henry again, she feels a little better. Like she's not alone. "And is this…is this sort of behavior normal for a second date?" she asks, a little more dazed than she really wants to be.

Emma puffs out her cheeks and tries not to look as nonplussed as she feels, but this isn't where she saw the evening going at all. Except that it is, a voice whispers inside her head and she reaches out, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

"Second date?" Emma says, looking over at Regina and sharing an embarrassed, tentative smile with the other woman. "I guess it's…yeah. I guess so."

"So you **are** a betting woman, then," Regina laughs gently, and her entire face seems to soften and glow.

"Oh, you have **no** idea," Emma grins. "Just wait 'til you find out what happens on the third date."

XxxXxxXxxXxx


	3. Surrendered Too Soon

**Chapter 3 – Surrendered Too Soon**

Regina's making tea – which Emma doesn't really drink – and she busies herself silently in the kitchen for a few minutes. Emma sits at the island and watches; well, actually, she's _staring_. She's trying not to but there's something in the way that Regina moves that's compelling, like everything she does is choreographed in some graceful sort of dance. By the time Regina brings two cups to the island and perches on one of the stools, Emma feels like she's been lulled into some sort of trance.

And Regina's noticed.

"Do drink some tea, dear," she says, pushing a cup towards Emma. "You're looking a little slack-jawed. Not that it's a look I haven't seen on you before, but it's rather unbecoming, all the same."

That's all it takes, really, to propel Emma into action. She glares at Regina and grasps the cup, taking a long swig of the too-hot liquid and wincing as it burns down her throat.

"Do you **have** to be like that?" she mutters, putting the cup down onto the counter with far too much force and sullenly staring Regina down as the other woman gazes balefully at her in reprove.

"Like **what**?" Regina assumes innocence, eyebrows rising heavenward.

"Rude," Emma states bluntly, almost ashamed at the offense she sees painted across Regina's features – those same features she'd just been admiring so much. "I mean," she qualifies, "I thought we were doing okay – you know – working together and this whole thing with Henry. We even had a pretty nice time the other night and now you're – "

"This whole thing with Henry," Regina repeats, lip curling a little, "is little more than an enforced fabrication and I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't allowed the benefit of seeing him."

"Right," Emma shrugs, sipping at her tea this time to avoid another hot lava situation in her throat, "and I know that. But I also know that you and I ended up kissing in my car the other night and Henry was nowhere to be seen."

"Thank the heavens," Regina murmurs, lifting her own cup to her lips with the sort of practiced delicacy of a lady who lunches.

"Whatever," Emma grumbles. "So whose benefit was that for, then?"

"Certainly not **mine**," Regina comments, rolling her eyes. She's lying, of course, and Emma's superpower might not be super (or a power, come to think of it) but she can tell by the way Regina lowers her gaze and fiddles with the handle of her cup that what happened between them wasn't one-sided. So Emma can't help the tiny smile that tugs at her mouth as she leans onto the counter with her elbows and peers up into Regina's face.

"My superpower may not be perfect," she says, as Regina's brows knit together in consternation, "but with you, Regina, I always know when you're lying. Whatever you say, you kinda like dating me. Or not dating me. But you know, whatever it is, you like it."

She can see that Regina wants to make another blisteringly caustic comment, but even though her red lips part, nothing comes out. _There_, Emma thinks smugly to herself. _That's how the superpower works_. Or just maybe in the hundred times that Regina _has_ lied to her and Emma's believed it, this is the one time that she hasn't.

"You're very presumptuous," Regina says, but her pupils are dilated and she can't quite muster up the intimidation that she always used to have ready at her fingertips. In fact, those fingertips are beating a nervous little tattoo on the side of her cup until Emma makes a somewhat satisfied noise in her throat and leans back on her stool.

"I'm allowed to be presumptuous," Emma says nonchalantly, "now that we've been on two dates."

Regina's face pales and she rears back in her chair. It was intended as a joke but Regina's doing anything but laughing, and Emma can't help but feel a sudden pang of apology – but for what, she's not entirely certain.

"Do you think this is amusing?" Regina forces out, her eyes hard and bright. "Is this some sort of benevolent **game** you're playing while I have to sit by and make polite conversation with a son who simply doesn't recognize me at all? Is that **funny** to you?"

"No!" Emma blurts, and the pain she sees flitting across Regina's face hurts her, too. "Regina, I understand how – "

"No, you don't," Regina cuts in, and there's no mistaking the jealousy shaping the planes of her face into hard lines of discontent. "You don't understand a **thing**, Emma. You remember who you are, what happened to you, where you've been. Whereas we've all lost a year to god knows what sort of curse cast by god knows who, not to mention the fact that the only person I care about has no idea who I really am!"

She's close to tears and Emma can't help the natural instincts that drive her off her stool and around the island to where Regina is slumped on her seat. But as she draws close, Regina holds out a hand to stay her progress and lets out a miserably empty laugh.

"Don't worry, dear," she says in a shaky voice, "the irony is not lost on me. I did exactly the same thing to everyone else so I'm deserving of a taste of my own medicine, don't you think?"

Emma isn't sure what to say. She believes in justice – one way or another – and sometimes it's a tough road to travel. She knows _that_ more than anyone else, perhaps. But to hear it said so bluntly and from Regina's own mouth, it strikes her as a very lonely path to go down. That's why she moves forwards despite Regina's outstretched hand until she's standing next to the other woman, invading her personal space in a way that feels strangely comforting.

"I'm sorry," Emma says as gently as she can. "I'm not trying to make fun of you. This thing is weird; I get that. This morning Henry asked me if you and I had kissed and I just didn't know what to tell him."

"You lie to him, Miss Swan," Regina sniffs disdainfully. "Because if Henry gets his memories back – "

"When he gets his memories back, you mean," Emma corrects her.

"**If**," Regina insists, "I don't want him scarred for life by the thought of you and I indulging in some sort of meaningless dalliance."

"Listen," Emma leans on the island as Regina turns to face her and they're only inches apart, "we're going to figure this out, we're going to get everyone's memories back and, when we do, Henry will be so happy to see you that he won't give a flying crap about what we told him in the meantime."

Regina flinches at just what Henry might remember about her and what she'd rather he forget, and swallows visibly. "He won't be horrified at The Savior and the Evil Queen pretending to…what…**date** one another? We're hardly the sort of couple who hold hands in the park and go for dinner and a movie."

As she says it aloud, she hears how ridiculous it sounds and can't suppress the smile that springs to her lips. She catches Emma's eyes and sees a glint in them that only makes more laughter bubble up her throat and out over her lips. Before she knows it, they're both chuckling in a way that seems more suited to a couple than it does sworn enemies.

"Seriously, Regina," Emma grins, "the only person who's horrified by it is you."

"That's not true," Regina pushes at her hair. "Your mother is simply appalled. I'm assuming when Henry asked you about the status of our relationship, you chose not to give the poor woman a heart attack by telling him."

Emma has the good sense to blush – mostly because she handled it about as well as she's always handled every intensely personal question that Henry's ever asked, whether in this reality or the one they were convinced was their own, back in New York. She'd seen Snow's stricken expression across the room and had decided that silence was the better part of valor.

Although, if she's honest with herself, she kind of wanted to tell Henry that she and Regina were a lot closer than two people who were supposed to be _just_ friends. Because that, at least, was more of a truth than the faked romance they were pretending to have. Or not pretending to have. _Whatever_, Emma thinks grimly, as she shrugs under Regina's questioning gaze and mumbles something unintelligible.

"Now you're being presumptuous," Emma grunts, when she finally finds the right words to say.

"I believe that, as we've now been on two dates, that's my right," Regina counters. Unless she's terribly mistaken, Emma thinks she sees playfulness in Regina's eyes and in the upturn of her mouth. It's kind of encouraging in a way that isn't even a tiny bit connected to curses and memories; it's not even Henry-related.

There's a tingling in the pit of Emma's stomach and she takes a tiny step closer to Regina until their legs are bumping against one another. In retrospect, telling Henry they were dating was probably a bad idea, because Emma doesn't _want_ to date Regina. She doesn't want to go through the whole stupid process she went through with Walsh, back in New York; that process of getting to know one another, wanting to say the right thing all the time, not wanting to overthink or overstep or overestimate the value of something that may or may not go somewhere.

No; Emma doesn't want to do that with Regina because it's all pointless. They know one another about as well as they're ever going to, all said and done.

Well, Emma reminds herself as that tingling flutters in her gut once more and she hears Regina's breath hitch in the most delightfully encouraging way, maybe there's _one_ exception in the way that they know each other.

"Is this our third date?" Regina asks, her voice thin and uneven.

"Pretty cheap date," Emma murmurs, "considering we haven't even left the house." She looks into Regina's eyes and feels like it doesn't really matter what other people think, or what the truth of the situation is, after all. The only truth that really counts for anything is right here, looking at her like they're already lovers.

"From what I hear," Regina says in that liquid-silken tone that makes Emma melt a little inside – and if this is how the Evil Queen ruled then Emma's ready to drop to her knees and swear fealty, "that's somewhat conducive to what happens on the third date, isn't it?"

Emma laughs, despite herself. "I thought you didn't know anything about dating etiquette, Madam Mayor."

Regina rolls her eyes and leans in a little closer to Emma so that the blonde can feel warm breath trickling over her cheek. "I've lived in this world for as long as you have, Miss Swan. You'd be surprised at what I do and don't know about the rules here."

"Oh yeah?" Emma's eyebrows rise. "What else do you know about the rules, then?"

Regina chuckles gently, deep in her throat and it might be one of the most dangerous, intoxicating, persuasive sounds that Emma's ever heard. They may be pretending to date one another, but when it comes to seduction, it feels like Regina wrote the rule book and locked it up in her castle so nobody else has a clue when it comes to this sort of thing.

"Where's Henry?" Regina asks, changing the subject and looking at her hand, palm lying flat on the surface of the counter top, fingertips pressing so hard against the marble that they're turning white.

"He's…uh…he's at the diner," Emma tells her. "Don't mention this to him, but I think he's got a bit of a crush on Ruby. Or he's got a crush on Granny's apple pie. Either way, he's – "

"Emma," Regina breathes, her hand moving from the counter to slide against Emma's cheek and curl around her neck, "**do** shut up."

This time, when they kiss, it lacks the desperation of their first. Instead, it's a slow, lingering exploration of one another's lips, tongues, mouths. Emma runs the tip of her tongue over Regina's bottom lip and feels the other woman lean against her, hears the gratifying moan that comes from Regina's mouth and buzzes against her own. She's about to take pleasure in it when fingernails scrabble at her shirt before diving underneath it, sending pin pricks of sensation scattering across her skin. Gasping, Emma's head lolls back on her neck as Regina's hands smooth over her torso, her back, sliding over her ribcage and back down to where the waistband of her jeans prevent any further searching touches.

Regina's mouth kisses a line up Emma's throat and it's perfect and terrifying and a hundred different things rolled into one. Clutching at Regina's shoulders, Emma pushes the other woman away from her and can see the devastation in Regina's eyes; it doesn't feel like a ruination that Emma's going to be sorry for. And she understands, then, that all things can be broken. And all things can be painstakingly put back together, too.

_She's _starting to be.

"Does this count as a third date?" Regina enquires, her lips red and full and so infinitely tempting that Emma darts forwards to taste them before she slips her hands beneath Regina's blouse and pulls the other woman closer to her again. Regina's legs wrap around her thighs and Emma feels herself trapped, possessed: all the things she's run from for so long and now she's running towards them. Plunging headfirst into every single scenario that she should abhor, but doesn't. Can't.

"I think this is going to count as the next four or five," Emma laughs, then hisses as Regina's hands move from beneath her shirt up into her hair, fisting handfuls of it and tugging hard enough to tilt Emma's head back, throat exposed and eyes clouding with errant pain.

"Then perhaps we should skip ahead to the part when we end this charade and take things a little more seriously," Regina intones.

"Oh…you want to…okay," Emma responds dully. "The curse. Your memories. Of course. You want to uh…we should probably get on that whole thing and gather the troops, or whatever, so we can – "

"No, dear," Regina hums, letting go of Emma's hair and hooking her fingers into the waistband of Emma's jeans so that she can jerk the other woman closer to her. "I'm not talking about the curse. Not today. Not this afternoon," Regina says. "But I'm interested to know what would constitute four or five dates. Purely out of anthropological interest, of course."

"Uh huh," Emma grins, and wraps her arms around Regina. "Of course. And is that your only interest?"

"Absolutely," Regina's eyes are heavy-lidded, and she sighs a little as Emma's fingers swathe firm lines of intent across her flesh. "What other reason would I have?"

For an answer, Emma kisses her again. Regina can't help but lean into it; can't stop herself from wanting it – wanting _Emma_. By the time Emma pulls back, Regina's a little dizzy and sways on her seat, clinging to the blonde as though for dear life itself.

"I may have underestimated the persuasive nature of this plan," she whispers, as Emma's thumb tracks a line that leads up to her bra and then pushes beneath it for a second. "And I may have underestimated the effect you coming back here would have."

Emma's teeth close over her ear lobe, pulling on it gently and Regina feels a low throb begin to echo in the pit of her stomach, moving down towards the tops of her thighs. In as much as it picks up, moving towards a more insistent and worryingly seductive pace when Emma's lips kiss her racing pulse point, Regina knows she's powerless to resist it. Some magic is quite simply unstoppable.

"There you go," Emma murmurs against Regina's skin. "Telling the truth again."

XxxXxxXxxXxx


End file.
